#who decided it was a good idea to have that in a book that's not that old

[highonakuweeds]

Who Says Money Can't Buy Happiness? (Part 6)

Sylus x right hand man!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | ao3

Summary: You can't have just one peaceful day, huh? Something had to go wrong after a good morning.

After a week or so of doing what Dr. Zayne had prescribed of you, you woke up more refreshed now, which is a good thing. Before you had left his office, you’d taken a hold of his number so that he could monitor your pulse. You confessed to him that it wasn’t necessarily your heart, but the pulse points at your wrists, which is probably the reason why he chose to keep in touch in the first place. Well, either that, or that he knew that you were close with MC, so if she ever contacted you first, you could tell him how she was doing.

So, he added that before sleeping, it would be a good idea to calm yourself down with a good book, and drink some camomile tea to soothe your nerves. It had you sleeping like a baby, and when you woke up, you felt better than you did yesterday.

You picked up your phone in order to update the doctor.

you

thanks for the recommendation of the tea, dr

feel much better now lol

It didn’t take long for him to reply back.

MC’s boyfriend probs

Anytime.

Just keep on calming yourself down before sleeping.

you

🫡

May your relationship with MC flourish  :333

MC’s boyfriend probs

???

You glanced outside, the red moon of the forever night brighter than usual. Today felt like a good day to take a walk along the N109 Zone’s border. It was a good in-between of the unusual home you had at the gleaming mornings of your day job. Plus, what’s a little exercise before going to work—

Wait. It was your day-off today. 

You let out joyous laughter, laying back down as you stared at the small chandelier just above your bed. Could this day get any better?

—--

You raised your arms high into the air, a sigh of satisfaction coming out from your lips. It had been a while since you decided to take a walk along the border, and honestly, it’s been a while too long.

You started off your pace slow, small steps as breathed in the fresh air blowing from Linkon City. You couldn’t help yourself when a little giggle left you, feeling your heart float. You weren’t quite sure where this sudden burst of giddiness came from, but you welcomed it all the same; when working for the most infamous leader, moments like this are hard to come by.

With this rare instance of peace and tranquility, you could tell that your heart began to beat slower than normal, understanding that you were relaxed for the first time in a couple months or so. The feeling of actually having the chance to rest was too liberating to give up, so you forced yourself not to think about Sylus, or MC, or Aries, or anything that could possibly give you stress or anxiety.

The soft wind ran through your hair, making it sway towards the N109 Zone’s side of the border. You couldn’t care less, though; not with the morning light kissing your cheeks.

Of course, however, given your misfortune, you felt a wave of metaflux surge around you, making you groan. You hadn’t even brought your best day-to-day weapon today! All you had strapped to you (since it was strapped to you at all times) was the simple gun that the Association provided you, a little more than half the ammo right beside it, and a small dagger knife Sylus had gifted you a long time ago.

You let out a groan of annoyance the moment your wrist beeped a warning. You didn’t know how you managed to convince your boss, but you barely wore your Hunter’s Watch; your ‘intuition’ (analyzation of surroundings and calculating possible routes of danger) being accurate enough for Jenna to trust you to not wear it. 

A tick of your jaw clicked in your ear, mimicking the sound of your gun cocking. Your eyes sharpened, darting around everywhere to scan the area for Wanderers. They were near, and attracted to the scent of a human after possible days of not being fed. Or perhaps they were hungry for something else.

The bushes behind you ruffled, causing you to whip your head and aim barely beside the shrub before shooting, just in time as the Wanderer’s failed retreat. It hissed in pain at the bullets, but locked its glare at you, making you purse your lips. It was a Herte Knave, and this specific kind of Knave usually came in groups…

You shot another bullet at its other leg, causing its knees to buckle. Quickly, you shot at its companion’s feet, which was stepping on scrapped metal. It ricocheted into its body, right into its heart. With a cry, it fell, and your attention focused on assessing how many Wanderers were around you.

… 1 at your 12:00—the one you just weakened, 1 at your 10:00—the one you had shot twice, 2 at your 4:00, and 3 at your 8:00, one of them being an Advanced Knave.

You could handle this. 

You were quick to run towards the Wanderer at your 12:00, persuading the other Wanderers to follow suit. Since most of them—aside from the Advanced one—were melee, they took your bait, rushing towards you at full speed. You stepped on the Herte Knave below you, making it scream and squelch as the last of its life drained out of it. And just as the other Knaves were about to attack,

You swiftly move backwards, causing all 5 of them to collide with one another. In their dazed state—as quick as that was—you aimed at the Advanced Knave, easily dodging its ranged attacks. 

You targeted the Advanced Knave immediately, knowing that if you were close enough, most of its attacks would be rendered useless. With one hand, you carried the Hunter’s gun, and in the other, you unsheathed Sylus’ dagger, its beautiful Damascus Steel blade glinting before you sank it into the chest of the Wanderer, making it screech. You could hear the other Wanderers charging at you already, and you rolled your eyes at the nuisance. 

Your foot kicked the Wanderer down, effectively slipping the dagger out of its flesh cleanly. It stayed there as the monster struggled to get out of your weight on that foot, and you made sure to shoot it in its head before shooting the other Wanderers in their hearts. Some of them fell immediately, but the remaining two were resilient; it may be better to kill them with the dagger.

And so you did.

With a stomp to ensure that the Wanderer you had just killed with a headshot remained dead, you used that as leverage to speed up your sprint towards the two Knaves, dagger easily stabbing through their throats. As they fell down to their demise, your melee weapon was difficult to wrench out of one of their necks, leaving it there.

And with the final gush of their blood, the Wanderers were finally killed and dead for good, and you heaved in a sigh. Great, now you have to wash your dagger again. You kneeled down at the Herte Knave with the dagger in its neck, placing your gun back in its holster. Its tip felt hot against your thigh despite the thick elastic fabric distinguishing it from your bare skin. 

Then, out of nowhere, you felt a sharp pain slicing through your other thigh, making you let out a guttural scream. You turned towards the other Wanderer, whose sword was about to cleanly cut your leg in half vertically. It was quick when you stabbed it one more time in its heart, and it dropped slack, no more resistance in its bones. 

Fuck, you could barely even stand with how much pain you were in. you had no choice but to remove your shirt, using your already bloodied dagger to stab a hole into it, making you able to rip it into long strips. With careful and shaky hands, you wrapped it around your thigh, and you cursed when the wound was too big for your shirt to fully cover it. But this will have to do for now. Even if you could already see the blood seeping out of the makeshift bandage.

You didn’t even realize your eyes were tearing up until you tried to stand up. With a loud curse, your knees buckled, causing you to kneel once more. The impact of your knees hitting the hard ground traveled to your thigh, making you suck in a breath at the pain. You had to use something as a temporary cane… Ah, yes, the sword that sliced you in the first place would do.

You stood up with great effort, wincing and groaning throughout it. You placed the blunt end of the sword under your armpit as support, the tip of it digging into the dry dirt of the borders securely. 

How far was home from here again?

—--

You quietly (as quietly as a person with a severe wound could) entered through the staff door that was tucked away somewhere in the back of Sylus’ base. A lot of the people there looked at you, clearly and rightfully alarmed, but you raised a shaky hand, pinching your pointer and thumb and running it across your lips, telling them to not speak a word. 

They preferred you more than Sylus, anyway.

And with that, you were able to go to one of the vacant labs deep underground in Sylus’ base, immediately grabbing all of the tools needed to properly dress your wound. The staff knowing about your condition was inevitable, given they would notice the soiled shirt in the trash anyway. However, you did not want any of Sylus’ doctors to know; they reported everything to him. At least with the staff, you could plead to them to stay silent, but his doctors were relentless.

You sat down on one of the high tables, placing the leg with a wound on its thigh on a stool. The materials were right beside you, but you were just staring at the dripping blood pooling beneath your leg. You had to force yourself to not let any of your tears drip as your wound stung terribly, the flesh around it pulsating as your body desperately tried to fend off any potential infections from dressing the wound in unsanitary ‘bandages’. With shaky and slightly numb hands, you put on latex gloves. This shouldn’t hurt so much; you’ve been through worse. But you were usually under some kind of numbing agent, or under actual good hospital care provided by the Association. Nobody cared if you screamed until your lungs gave out.

But you couldn’t do that now.

Keep yourself quiet, keep yourself quiet, you chided, hissing when you began cleaning the wound, first with unscented, mild soap and water, and then Isopropyl alcohol. It solicited a small whimper from you, and you had to grab a towel from somewhere to bite down on it, muffling any slight noises you made. 

You took a deep breath, staring at the thread and needle in your hands. Could you really do this without anesthesia?

The first stitch that had penetrated you almost made you scream, your hand tensing against the needle driver. You bit down on the towel so hard you couldn’t feel any saliva in your mouth anymore. Push through.

You were glad that you were taught how to suture wounds by Sylus’ doctors long ago. It wasn’t mandatory at all, since you knew that Sylus would most probably just carry you to the nearest doctor that was available. But you insisted on learning, if ever something like this happens. If ever you planned on ‘escaping’ and suddenly found yourself injured.

The thought of you even considering escaping distracted you a little, as it made you giggle a bit. 5 years ago and you were still thinking of leaving such a luxurious place like this. 

You had 3 stitches tied and secured already. But with how big the slash was, you had assumed you needed… 8 more?

The more you worked against yourself, the more you could feel your stomach churn and your forehead dampen. The area burned white with how much it stung, especially after the endless amount of times you punctured yourself with the sharpest needle on Earth.

Well, it wasn’t. But it might as well be without anesthesia.

Finally, after a slow 10 minutes and painful trudges through the necessary procedure, it was stitched. Finally, it was stitched. 

The room was deathly silent, only making the ringing of your ears even more piercing. Your hand slipped slightly with how it was slowly losing its grip, but you managed to place a long strip of gauze over the now neat, clean wound, though slightly jagged from the Wanderer’s sword. Your mouth was dry, your tongue flat against the cloth in your mouth, and you bit down even harder.

Your blood soaked through the first piece of gauze too easily. Too quickly. With a muted curse, you placed another strip, but this time with more conviction; you were slowly regaining your grip.

And so, you grabbed the bandage, finally easily able to wrap it around your thigh. The process was slow, painstaking, and you wouldn’t have been able to deny the times you would force yourself to peel your eyes away from your wound to let your liquid pain drip down onto the cold lab table. 

Two more wrap-arounds and you were finished. Two more wrap-arounds and you were finished. Two more…

You swallowed thickly as you removed the towel in your mouth, sweat beading your forehead. The corners of your vision began to glitch, your physical exhaustion consuming you. But you had to push through; you were already done dressing your wound up. Quietly. Discreetly. Alone. 

It took you a while to clean everything up, to remove the smell of blood from the room. You had grabbed a broom to place under your armpit once more and walked towards your room, which took another 20 minutes. Luckily, throughout the way there, a couple of servants had helped you, though secretly. It was like they didn’t want you to know.

But there wasn’t really anything that could get past your eyes.

—--

The moment you opened the door to your room, you noticed a small plate of your favorite food on your nightstand, still clearly fresh. A smile placed itself on your face; of course the chef knew, too.

You sat down on your bed, the mattress dipping. You didn’t hesitate to take a bite of your food, sighing in pleasure when you tasted the familiar sense of warmth spreading around your body. You laid down to rest your back on the headrest, a hand going down to your bed. There was a file on it, something you didn’t notice through the daze of blood loss you just went through. 

You skimmed through it, right wrist beeping softly at the new information. So that’s what Sylus wanted to do…

Something uneasy and unsettling bubbled in your stomach. Not out of jealousy, though, no, totally not. But rather out of concern for MC’s health. How is Sylus so sure she can handle a mission like this?

You needed to reason out with him, surely.

…

Could you walk like this?

—--

The gunshot was what made you narrow your eyes, your hand hesitant on the door handle. Was there a special client he had to have taken care of in his bedroom ? You knew you shouldn’t doubt your boss as just his subordinate, but when have you ever actually taken that role as serious as that?

So, you opened the door, ready to dispose of a dead body despite your leg, when all of a sudden,

“Oh.” Your heart sank even if you had forced your body not to. Sylus was on top of MC in just his robe, pinning her wrists down. A pink cloud that had the words ”LOVE” written in it was right above them, making your mouth dry.

Sylus cocked his head ever so slightly when he heard your voice, and he raised a brow. “Darling, you should know when to knock.” There was that stupid teasing tone when he spoke, as if taunting you to go batshit crazy.

MC, who came to the conclusion that you two were probably an item of some sort (well, what should she have assumed when he called you darling?), looked rather distressed, immediately pushing Sylus off (or at least attempting to). “Wait! Wait, Nyx, this isn’t what it looks like! I-I needed to get a brooch so I could go to the next auctio—”

“I’m sorry for bothering you both,” your voice hung low with forced professionalism as you bowed your head softly, closing the door

Sylus’ grip weakened at your words, disappointed that you had submitted so easily to what was going on. MC wasn’t having it, though, so the moment she felt his grip against your wrists falter, she slipped away with agility, running towards the door whilst shouting your ‘name’. But it was too late; when she opened the door, you were already gone.

So after she closed the door again, she stood there, anger boiling under her skin. And before Sylus could even sneak in a snarky remark, she marched towards him, making him tilt his head. 

And to say that Sylus was caught off guard was an understatement.

MC’s slap barely made him turn his head, but it still stung nonetheless. He could tell she was fuming, especially since he’d never seen her this mad so far.

“You did not tell me Nyx was your lover .” She said in a low voice, as if restraining herself from doing anything bad. “Why do you treat her like she’s just one of your lowly workers?” Sylus opened his mouth to speak, but MC cut him off with a finger. “And why did you do something so suggestive when you had a girlfriend this entire time?”

“You were the one trying to look for the brooch in my bedroom.” He calmly stated, crossing his arms. “And she is not my lover.”

MC scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I only wanted to steal that damn brooch because I need it to go around the N109 Zone. Didn’t you tell me that yourself? Plus, you were the one insisting that I find it instead of just giving it to me. And I don’t believe she’s your lover. Your grip weakened when she came in. Surely that means something , right?”

Her grasp of the brooch tightened. “The auction isn’t that far from now, and as of the moment, I will go with you. That never changed. But,” she glanced at the door, pursing her lips. “Know your boundaries, Sylus.”

She left the room, pinning the brooch onto her shirt by herself before slamming the door, leaving Sylus in his bedroom, for once speechless.

—--

The tears that came from your eyes were not from the wound you had gotten an hour or three ago. Rather, it came from a more internal wound.

You clicked your tongue as tears dripped onto the dark hallway, MC’s voice quieting the more you walked away. The adrenaline of it all began to wear off, making you lose your balance slightly. You hugged the wall to your left with a thud, but it only hit your thigh, making you seethe in pain. Angry tears blurred your vision, but even with that, you were able to make out the two familiar figures, as well as their voices.

“(Name)!” Luke exclaimed, hooking your arm around his shoulders. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s going on? Are you okay?” He pried you off of the wall, and you nodded your head, taking a deep breath. “I’m fine,” you replied, but the quiver in your voice gave you away.

Kieran glanced at the way you kept your left leg on your toes instead of flat against the floor. He was quick to do the same that Luke did with your other arm, essentially making the pressure against your leg alleviate just a bit. “But you don’t look fine. Is there something wrong with your leg—”

“I said I’m fine.” You snapped, taking a sharp inhale before speaking again to keep your composure. “I… I had a little fight with Wanderers a couple hours ago, and my leg is…”

“Bleeding?” Kieran asked you, making you narrow your eyes and tilt your head. “Well, technically. But what do you mean?”

“Well,” Luke stared at your left thigh. “It’s—It’s bleeding. Like seeping through your clothes.”

“What? ” You quickly glanced at your leg and realized that you probably pulled a couple of stitches, making you hiss at the realization. Fuck, that means you’d have to redo everything all over again. 

You bit your lip when the twins sat you down on your bed (you weren’t sure how you didn’t notice the walk there) before looking at them. “You two know how to suture, right?”

They nodded hesitantly, exchanging glances with each other. 

“Get the supplies, especially the anesthesia, or a number agent, no matter how mild it is. Please. ”

@readerxyourbabe

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

Okay so this idea is kind of meh but what about AU frat boy! Dick Grayson who everyone likes but with a reader who’s kind of wary of him like gets put off vibes and discovers to their horror he’s a serial killer? Like maybe catches him in the act? Could be romantic or platonic either or :)

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍…

!!! GN reader, egregiously long post, paranoia, mind games, brief mention of suicides, death, blood, dead body, can be translated as romantic or platonic, idk what else needs to be warned.

Frat boy Dick Grayson AU, you will forever be famous in my heart. Why haven’t I written something like this before.

He’s got it all. The charm, the good looks, the surprisingly tasteful humor (considering he’s a part of a frat)… what’s not to like about him? He’s the number one campus heart-throb, with just about anyone throwing themselves at his feet.

Well, everyone except you.

Because there’s just something so off about him. For whatever reason, alarm bells go off in your head whenever he’s near. Some may call it paranoia, some may call it straight-up jealousy. But to you, it’s something much more; enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck when he decides to sit next to you in lectures.

At first, you thought it was due to the envious looks from other students. I mean, the Dick Grayson has decided to sit next to you of all people? That’s bound to start some nasty one-sided shit from people you don’t even know. But no… it’s not the whispers or glares. It’s him. The voice in the back of your head practically screams that it’s him. You just don’t know why.

Again, he’s got it all. Charm, good looks, humor. Maybe what’s so off-putting is that he’s just so friendly. Due to his outgoing personality, it’s no shock to see him hanging around someone new every day, and it’s to the point where you’re convinced he knows everyone on campus by name. Maybe you just need to understand the nature of a social butterfly more. Then he’ll stop being so off-putting. Right?

But, the more you interact with him, the less sure you are. It drives you crazy when he picks you as his lecture buddy because there’s just something so wrong. But what? Is it his casual questions about your hobbies? His friendly, gentle shoulder-grabs when he wants your attention? His relaxed demeanor around someone who should realistically be a total stranger to him, as neither of you share the shame lifestyles outside of classes?

No, you randomly realized one day; it’s none of that.

It’s the fact that his smile never reaches his eyes.

Dick Grayson has beautiful crystal blues; you’ll give him that much. They’re bewitching to look into, and you’ll find yourself captivated by his gaze even if you aren’t big on eye contact. But whoever came up with the saying, “the eyes are the window to the soul” clearly never met Dick Grayson. No matter how warm his smile may be, it’s impossible to know what he’s truly thinking with how guarded his stare is. A damn mystery, with no clues other than the slightest hint of a knowing twinkle every now and then.

You quickly decided that it’s creepy as hell. Why would a guy who acts like an open book have eyes so frosty? Has anyone else noticed this, or are they too busy being charmed by his honey words and pearly whites? Maybe it’s a part of his allure. People drool over the secretive ones, don’t they?

(Upon having that thought, you’d feel a shiver go up your spine. You can hear the echo of Dick Grayson’s voice saying, “you’re a secretive one, (Y/N). I’ll admit, it’s kinda cute” somewhere in your mind.)

(If you recall correctly, it was the day where you began to wonder where exactly he heard your name from.)

But you’ve begun to observe this anomaly named Dick Grayson. You’ve begun to pick up on how he carries himself around other people, and something became immediately apparent. Whatever the deal is with weird, closed-off look he has in his eyes… it’s situational. Strategic, even. While you have yet to pick up on the pattern, some conversations — or people, even — warrant shimmering eyes filled with mirth, while others get that plotting, calculating stare.

And, for whatever reason, everything about you seems to earn the latter.

(Like when you think he doesn’t notice you watching him. A seat ahead of you, he’ll carry on with the cheerleader just fine, his eyes sparkling with whatever emotion he desires. Then, when the conversation lulls, he’ll subtly crane his head behind him the slightest bit, icy eyes darting in your general direction.)

(You might be going crazy, but you swear he smirks a fraction of an inch when your gazes accidentally connect.)

So, yeah. Either you’re reading into things way too much, or this guy’s just not what he seems to be on the surface. And if this is really the game of cat and mouse you think it is, you’re pretty sure he knows you’re on to him. Because why else would he give you a peek behind the curtains of his true intentions? Okay, maybe that’s a little too far, as you’re not sure what his true intentions are, but still… something about how he interacts with you — which seems to be a lot, by the way — just has this subtle taunting undertone to everything. Like he knows you know something and no one will believe you.

God, if only you actually knew what he knows you know. It would make this game of mental fuckery much more palatable.

Something is so off about Dick Grayson. You’re not sure if anyone else feels the same way, but it’s just… true. That jolt of fight or flight you get when he’s looking at you has been there since day one, and it will probably continue to be there for as long as you’re in the same classes as him. And you know what doesn’t help? The strange disappearances happening around campus. Because of course there has to be some sort of side plot happening. It’s not just enough that you have this weirdo friendly frat guy wanting to get all-chummy with everyone. Nope; students and faculty alike seem to be dropping like flies, some of them even found dead after an accident or an unfortunately successful suicide attempt.

So, maybe you consume too much true crime content. Maybe people are right about that shit fucking up your mentality, and now you’re just a paranoid loser who thinks everyone is out to get them. But… I mean… a charismatic guy who’s enchanted pretty much everyone within a ten-mile radius? Come on. Where have you heard that one before. The signs are right there. Why are you the only fucking person seeing them?! Why is no one else suspicious of this weirdo who’s obviously up to something?! Why is no one calling him out on this behavior?!

… Because it’s all in your head. Because you’ve officially lost it, and the only weirdo here is you. Because when a girl started having an allergic reaction, the one who was able to control the situation and save her life was none other than Dick Grayson. Because his tone was so serious, his eyes were so focused, and his hands were so gentle yet methodical as he administered her epipen. Because he went through breathing exercises with her to calm her down, and asked with a genuinely worried expression how she was feeling.

Because Dick Grayson is a nice person who wanted to walk her back to her dorm, and all you are is a judgmental creep who comes up with batshit crazy conspiracies when someone looks at them weird.

Maybe nothing is wrong with him. If there was, why would he look so sincere during that whole thing? Aren’t life or death situations the perfect way to pick up on people’s true natures? Being right there, all you saw was a a natural-born leaver commanding the room, eyes ablaze with conviction as he ordered you to hand that girl’s back to him so he can dig for the epi. Sure, he might get a strange look in his eyes every now and then, but does that really matter in the grand scheme of things? As long as he’s got his head on his shoulder when needed, a mischievous glance or two never hurt anyone.

That night, you walked back to your dorm feeling like a piece of shit. There was no plotting. There was no game of cat and mouse. The friendly frat boy was always just that; a friendly frat boy. So, now here you are, even going as far as to take the long way back from your 8 pm lecture in order to fully maximize this time to reflect. Maybe you should somehow apologize to him. While you didn’t outwardly do anything wrong, you’ve always had this slight distrusting attitude towards him, and it was about time you change it. Who knows, maybe you’ll be the one to take initiative and sit next to him. Start the conversation yourself, ask him some questions, just generally return the friendliness he’s always shown you.

That’s when the hairs on the back of your neck began to stand.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your foot barely even flat on the beaten path before you. He was near. You knew he was near. That fight or flight instinct has basically been conditioned to sense his presence at this point, and now here it was, screaming at you that he’s near. Whatever thoughts you had to make amends with Dick Grayson were immediately thrown out in favor of that old, reliable fear.

He’s near, but you don’t see him.

No. You hear him.

He’s humming. Somewhere behind the tall, untamed shrubbery next to the path, friendly frat boy Dick Grayson is humming an unfamiliar tune, his soft voice smooth as a stone in a river. However, what would probably sound soothing to a normal person instead fills you with a sense of dread. What the hell is he doing out here?! Close to 10 in the fucking night, singing a little tune like some fucking creep?

Then, you noticed it. The sounds of something heavy scuffing against the dirt. Or, rather, dragging.

Behind the bushes and trees, Dick Grayson is dragging something. At 10 in the night.

What the actual fuck.

Curiosity is a dangerous thing. As much as you sure as hell wanted nothing to do with whatever he’s doing, a dark voice in your brain — which sounded a bit too close to Dick Grayson’s voice — urged you to look. Come on, just a peek. This bastard’s been playing mind games with you all semester, hasn’t he? Don’t you wanna know what his intentions are for sure? I mean, what kind of a frat boy hangs out in the bushes while he could be out partying on a Friday night?

Isn’t this just weird, (Y/N)?

Before you even knew it, your feet were moving on their own. Gentle steps. Avoid the twigs, avoid the leaves. Do not let him hear you. With a feather-light touch, your hand steadied itself against a nearby tree as you used it for cover.

A few long, quiet breaths. Just to calm your nerves.

Then, you slowly craned your head out from behind the tree.

There he was, slightly hunched over with his back facing you. He had a fist full of something, though you couldn’t tell quite what it was due to the night’s shadows. Dark, inky stains caked his sweater, and while the naïve part of your brain wanted to call it mud, the dread in your gut knew better. You craned your head out a bit further to get a better look at the scene.

A body. In front of Dick Grayson’s hunched over form was a body lying face down. His fist was clutching its hair, assumingely dragging it by the head from… wherever. The new angle also gave you the advantage of seeing Dick’s other hand, clutching what looked to be a hammer cover in… definitely not mud.

He was still humming. That bastard was still humming after doing whatever the fuck he did to that poor person. That person… Dick finally stood up straight, lifting the head with him by their hair… that girl. It was the same one who had the allergic reaction. Bloodied and with a dented forehead — god, you were going to be sick — but you knew it was her. She was limp in his grasp, swaying aimlessly as Dick rotated her a bit as though he was admiring his own handiwork.

He killed her.

Dick Grayson killed her.

You didn’t move. Christ, how could you after seeing something so horrific? The alarm bells in your head were much louder than your own heartbeat, screaming for you to run run run run runrunrunRUNRUNRUNRUN—

His head suddenly swiveled towards you.

No more humming as his gaze found yours.

The two of you were locked in a stalemate, staring at each other with such intensity. Those icy blue eyes held no readable emotion, not even a hint of surprise that you caught him in the act. No; he just stared at you, one hand holding a fist-full of hair and the other absently fiddling with his hammer.

A sly smirk slowly broke out on his face.

He knew you were watching the entire time, didn’t he?

Because he is a plotting piece of shit, isn’t he? This has always been a game of cat and mouse to him, and he knew you were on to him since the beginning. That friendly, charming exterior… the disappearances. Goddamnit, you were fucking right.

Something is so off about Dick Grayson.

And no one will believe you.

[wizardsnorlax]

Ok so update on the Spiral Jon fic I'm writing: I'm getting it onto Ao3 bit by bit because it's super difficult to write on mobile, but I need to take a break and get ideas for the season three events out before they get lost, here's a link to the season 2 notes

Ok here we go

Melanie does not join the Archives, this is for the best

At one point in season 2 Jon gave Sasha Georgie's contact info for "in case of emergency" use so Sasha is gonna be (mostly) ok she just needs to pop an allergy pill every once in a while

Sasha might be good with the hardware of a computer but the software might as well be a completely different language so she's very little help with Georgie's show

Jon takes to reading Statements like I took to weed gummies

Sasha follows about the same trail of clues as Jon did in Canon but Daisy's grip on Sasha is a bit harder to hold so Sasha gets claw slashes on her arms instead of a knife at the throat

Things that have changed about Jon while Sasha was gone: his hair now has ringlet curls, the extra flexibility in his joints has progressed but not to the point anyone has noticed let alone would consider a problem and his eyes are twitchy from the stress of filling her position to the point he looks like he's constantly ODed on caffeine

Sasha gets back in the office and when everyone learns they can't quit or be fired Jon makes it his personal mission to be as much of a menace to Elias as possible

but he'd never do that to Sasha, she gets doodles of her hanging out with Cecil from Nightvale because she's a good boss:)

Martin scolds Tim for how he's been treating Jon and Sasha because of the changes caused by first and secondhand paranormal bullshit exposure

Jon gets to go out for drinks with people who actually like him

Everyone learns why Jon has a shirt that says "the difference between me and Superman is Superman has Super Vision, I need constant supervision

A discussion about who takes Jon home with them is had because at some point the poor goober lost his shoes and started trying to wrap around Martin like a belt

Sasha gets kidnapped on her way home

Michael helps her because some part remembers being an archival assistant and she's treated hers so much better than Gertrude did

Helen doesn't take Michael's place but the door still rejects him and the corridor collapses as both Sasha and Michael crash into Jon's new flat

Michael is freed but is in such bad shape he needs to be in the hospital for several weeks on recovery

Things attempt to be normal

Tim and Jon are menaces to Elias in very different ways

Jon doesn't want anyone traveling alone

Elias doesn't care but can't STAND the idea of Jon being there without a buffer so Sasha gets to have company on her trip, Tim goes to India and gets the ghost bullet, cue Mystery Mousketool meme

Martin, Basira and Daisy are handling the workload as best they can but since none of them are particularly suited to the task things go badly because Martin is terrible at direct leadership

When Sasha and Jon get kidnapped by Trevor and Julia, Sasha decides that the best way to clear some of the air is through lore dumping her backstory (still to be determined)

Jon is deemed suspicious by the false cop cause he does NOT look sober

Insert attempted police brutality interrupted by a shotgun

While the false cop is regenerating Jon gets the "how did you two meet" Statement from Julia

They get to the cabin and Jon freaks out a little at the idea of reading ANOTHER cursed book

Big relief when nobody gets eaten this time

Nobody ever believes him but Jon has kept every promise he's made (not that he's made many before but it's the principle of it)

Yoinks the page

Our duo finishes the assignment

Back home

Sasha learns about the storage unit

JON STOP REACHING FOR THE EXPLOSIVES YOU ABSOLUTE GREMLIN

Tim is EXTRA motivated to wreck shop at the Unknowing

Jon and Martin stay behind to be distractions

Big boom happens, Tim makes it out because the guy's literally too angry to die, Sasha is in the coma, Daisy is in the Coffin and Basira is just having a time of it

Jon gets mind fondled by Elias and it makes Martin want to rip the bastard's throat out but the best he can do is have the cops rough him up as much as possible

Jon is temporary head of the Archives and the pressure swallows him whole and he crashes like a meteorite because he desperately doesn't want to be the one giving orders

Martin's "assistance" has been leaving cobwebs in places nobody checks

And thus we enter season 4

[im-a-king-baby]

I was just watching videos of Omar on tour and it reminded me of ELYN. The way he is on stage is so ELYN vibe. I feel like I’m watching the chaos tour haha (minus the negative stuff)

<3 <3 <3 Hiiiii, thank you!!! It's been fun to see all the pictures and videos coming from the concerts and play spot the difference with my mental pictures of Simme. (Sadly I haven't been able to go, very rude of Omar not to go to Australia on his Europe tour. We're in Eurovision! That makes us basically part of Europe.)

Also since you reminded me of it and my November resolution was to try to post more things, here is a Simme Chaos tour snippet that is (mostly) the positive stuff <3 😅

(And for the reblogs, this is a prequel snippet to Everybody Loves You Now @ AO3)

He has his first solo concert in Europe. Not counting the promo events, or the industry shows, or the monopolized Open Mic Nights.

The first show in a concert venue, which was booked in advance, with tickets sold that have his name on them, printed in all-caps.

Of course it’s tiny compared to the stadium they were in last night opening for Ariana. A theatre most used for plays with a single bathroom backstage in place of a dressing room and where Candace had had to drag them all out to the alley where the van was parked for the pre-show pep-talk so they couldn’t be heard on stage over the support act.

But Simon has a support act now. There are other solo shows booked, in and around the Ariana dates. Every day Candace is making calls and emailing contacts and adding things to the calendar pinned up on the inside of the van. Filling up all the gaps.

Which is good. It’s great. They’re gaining momentum and Simon is getting better at jumping from show to interview to show, at catching sleep in bursts crammed between commitments, at finding products that cover up the exhaustion on his face. And now he’s got a solo show, and Candace is In Talks about the second album that he might be able to work with a songwriter to put his own songs on, and he’s in Europe again for the first time in… months.

“This could be the start of bigger things,” Candace had said in the alley, while Simon bounced on his toes to keep warm, already dressed in his show outfit of a black mesh tank and jeans slashed open on the sides. “So drink it all in tonight, we’re only going bigger from here.”

He’d thought he was used to it by now, the noise of the crowd, the sight of phone lights spread out before him like stars, but it turns out it’s different when they’re all there for him. When they’re screaming his name before he’s even stepped on stage, rather than him having to slowly win them over. When he runs out onto the stage and the screaming ramps up and hits like a wall and he can feel the smile stretching at his cheeks that he can’t even pretend to hold back. He might cry, actually has to sniff a few times, turning away from the crowd to pull himself together.

There were so many moments he thought he wouldn’t get to have this. When the label said his songs weren’t good enough, when the graphs showed sales were falling, the shows where he opened and the crowd barely seemed to notice, the phone call in Texas to ask what the plans were for the tour break only to get Rachel’s Assistant ‘Ms McKenzie has decided to cull her list and focus on acts with more commercial appeal.’

“Sim-me! Sim-me! Sim-me!” The crowd chants, falling into rhythm and his heart seems to speed up to match Sim-me Sim-me and it doesn’t matter that it’s three hundred people rather than ten thousand, he spins around to the mic and there’s enough light from the spots and the phones to pick out faces. Girls with glitter dots around their eyes, boys in black eyeliner edged with gold, people in Simme T-shirts, waving signs saying DANCE LIKE THIS, people who came to his show who traveled and paid money and got dressed up because they wanted to see him.

“Oh my god, hi. Hello. Hi. I love you.” There was a script, he thinks, but he has absolutely no idea what it said. It’s only thanks to the set-list taped to the floor by his mic stand that he can even remember what he’s meant to sing. “Hello Cologne. This is the first official show of what I think we’re all agreed is the Chaos Tour.”

They laugh along with him and they cheer and Simon can only hope he’s still capable of singing around this wild, insane grin on his face because it absolutely isn’t going away. “Thank you for coming. Thank you for supporting me. The fact that I’m here, the fact that we can do this at all, is all because of you talking and filming and sharing and streaming and this was my dream for so long I can’t say thank you enough for making it come true.”

The fight is lost, the fight is over, he is absolutely crying as they scream again, someone shouts 'Simmers forever,' and more people shout 'Simme,' and the exhaustion melts away like it was never there.

He’s not cold, or tired, or lonely, or afraid. It feels like getting his song picked for the jubilee, like seeing Wilhelm running after Sara’s car, like everything.

“Now I hope you’re all here to dance,” he says. “Because all of us up here, We Wanna Dance.”

Kevan hits the intro, the backing track hits the beat, and every single person in front of him starts singing. Every word, thrown back at him. Screaming, applauding, chanting his name.

And it’s all worth it. Whatever it takes. To have this.

[antiguagealach]

THE ARTFUL DODGER DESERVES A SECOND SEASON

To begin with, I want to clarify that Spanish is my native language, so I will try to express myself as best I can in this post.

I'm a little late to this series, as it premiered about a year ago. At some point I assumed, wrongly, that it was released in the first half of the year. Despite not having had time yet to see your posts, tweets, nor videos about the series (I will do it because I am obsessed with this series), I have read some fanfics, and I must say they are a real chef's kiss!

My interest in this series came about while I was still going through the “grief” of a cancellation. I recently finished watching My Lady Jane, a wonderful series that they cancelled for no reason. So, when I started this new series and was hooked from the first episode by its plot and characters, I asked a friend to research if there was going to be a second season or if it had been cancelled as well. To prepare myself emotionally, I wanted to know if I could expect a conclusion or at least a sequel. However, my friend told me that there wasn't much official information: some rumors indicated that it was cancelled, while others mentioned that it might have been planned as a short series. I decided to assume it was a short series and told myself that, if that was the case, it was fine. But then I saw the ending… and I just can't accept it.

After all the tension of the plots, the operation and the evolution of the relationship between Jack and Belle, I can't settle for such an open-ended closure. How can it all end with a simple “Jack” uttered through thick glass, followed by his incarceration? That ending seems made for a sequel.

As I mentioned before, I'm aware that I'm late to this fandom. All I know is that there is a fan petition for a second season. However, there is a silver lining: according to several people on social media, this series has not been officially cancelled. In addition, the creator continues to share content and give “likes” to those who ask for a second season, which is a good sign. I also consider it positive that it is not Amazon but Disney/Hulu who are behind it, as this could give us a chance. Another inspiring example is Good Omens, a series that, although initially conceived as a single season based on a book, was eventually greenlit for a second season (after years).

I imagine this idea has already come up among fans, but I propose that we make more noise, following the example of the My Lady Jane fandom. The Artful Dodger has enormous potential to explore different avenues in a second season, and I'm sure James McNamara already has some great ideas in mind.

[bimoonphases]

@wolfstarmicrofic September 14 - prompt 14: House-Elf [word count 719]

They were in the Sirius and Remus’s living room, right after Flooing back after a meeting with the Order. James was pacing back and forth and Sirius was nodding gravely even if James wasn’t saying anything. Remus raised an eyebrow at Lily, sitting across from him, and she rolled her eyes.

“James, please stop, you’re giving me a headache,” she said.

“But you heard them, Lils,” James stopped in front of the fireplace. “We’re just to what? Sit around while other people risk their lives for our world?”

“We just joined the Order, and it’s been only four months since we graduated from Hogwarts,” Remus sighed. “It makes sense they wouldn’t want to throw us right in the middle of the war immediately.”

“Oh, so we’re to let ‘the adults’ do the job again? Because that’s worked so well so far,” Sirius scoffed.

“Exactly,” James nodded. “Everyone thinks we’d just be reckless and get ourselves killed but we’d be an asset. Come on, modesty aside, we’re the most brilliant minds of our generation. We could win this if we all work together!”

“Speaking of together, why is it only the four of us here?” Sirius asked. “Where are the others?”

“Mary had a shift at St Mungo’s,” Remus said. “Marlene and Dorcas said there was no war that could stop them from celebrating their anniversary and Peter had to check on his mother who’s been ill.”

“Let it be known I don’t approve the way you three convinced him to join the Order,” Lily frowned. “Peter looks terrified all the time lately, he barely said goodbye before going today.”

“Peter always looks terrified, you get used to it,” Sirius rolled his eyes.

“We didn’t force him to do anything,” James finally sat by Lily’s side, looking outraged. “We just talked about it and he accepted.”

“You know he would jump into the Black Lake if you happened to ask him, James,” Lily took her fiancé’s hand in hers. “You’re charming like that.”

Remus looked away from James beaming and immediately leaning over to kiss Lily to thread his hand in Sirius’s.

“Relax,” he said. “The war won’t end by the time Dumbledore decides we’re ready to help, unfortunately. Besides, I’m sure there are other things we could do.”

“Like what?” Sirius grumbled.

Before Remus could think about it, a loud crack echoed in the room and a house-elf appeared right in the middle of the carpet. James, Lily and him almost jumped on their seats, but Sirius only raised a bored eyebrow as the creature turned around frantically, his hands clasped in front of him until he stopped, staring at Sirius.

“Master Sirius! Master Sirius, Kreacher finally found you!”

“What is it, Kreacher?” Sirius snapped. “Did Mother finally die?”

“Mistress is very well,” the house-elf looked outraged for a second then his expression shifted. “Please, Master Sirius, Kreacher needs your help.”

“Yeah, like that’s gonna happen,” Sirius got up. “Get out of my house.”

Remus could see the house-elf almost immediately obey the order, then his hands clasped even harder on whatever he was holding.

“Please, Master Sirius,” he repeated, evidently fighting the instinct to obey Sirius. “It’s Master Regulus.”

“What about my idiot brother, Kreacher?”

“Please, Master Sirius, Master Regulus is in danger. Master Regulus is dying.”

Remus saw Sirius stiffen. Despite all the bad blood between them, he knew the only regret in Sirius’s life was never getting to save his brother from their parents.

“What do you mean dying?”

“Master Regulus went on a secret mission, but he’s dying, and he ordered Kreacher to leave with this and destroy it,” the house-elf opened his hands to reveal a heavy locket. “But Kreacher can’t leave Master Regulus dying, so he came here.”

There was a moment of silence, Sirius getting paler and paler, James and Lily looking alternatively at him then at the locket. Remus got up and took Sirius’s hand.

“I don’t care he’s on the wrong side,” Sirius whispered. “I can’t leave him dying, not again.”

“I know,” Remus nodded. “I’m coming with you.”

“We’re coming too,” Lily and James chorused, getting up.

Sirius nodded and looked at Kreacher.

“Take us to Regulus. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Master Sirius, thank you Master Sirius,” the house-elf answered.

With another loud crack the living room was empty.

[ratatatastic]

happy we love defending our teammates around here from mr aj "thats one of the biggest things is im very loyal to my teammates and no ones going to take liberties and take any cheap shots towards my teammates" greer

if youd like to know what caused aj to go after kastelic its because of two hits on adam and jesper that happen within 7 seconds of each other and while casters were quick to note the jesper hit they never mentioned kastelic basically riding adam near the benches hard not even a few seconds before that and those within tandem is what makes aj go enoughs enough! and shed his gloves

there has to be something so funny about jesper and uvis hovering nearby as aj just (insert the dog eating cabbage angrily video)

despite wrastling the shit out of a guy aj wants more and honestly a perfect addition to our kitty lineup!! oh delightful little cat!!

boston bruins @ florida panthers | 10.8.24

[qcomicsy]

Lately I've only been wishing to grab a comic about my favorite character and just have a genuinely good time reading it.

[erythristicbones]

21 pages of my book edited!! wooo!!!

[bandagegirl]

Some ideas for past Red Crown vessels. Considering the Lamb gets to meet TOWW only in death and gains the Red Crown on their first death, does that mean every previous Red Crown Vessel died to receive the crown? Imagine how many times TOWW gave someone his crown with the promise to bring them back to life, give them another chance as long as they follow his word and free him.

Just imagine how many times TOWW has given someone another chance at life. Given them the chance to mend relationships, to kill out of revenge, out of hatred, to see someone dear one more time, to get back whats theirs, all as long as they form a cult in TOWW's name and free him. Imagine how many times TOWW ripped away everything they worked hard for, everything they cared for, because they keep failing and disappointing him over and over again.

[wellzofyouth]

That one post of my mine predictably aged like fine wine. Never let somebody on comic twitter in the writer's room😭😭😭 Like imagine a 1 to 1 adaptation of literally any event?? -1b at the box office. "Who are these people???"

[vampirebiter]

one good thing about reading a lot of bad books is it inspires you that maybe even you could be successful telling stories since people like these shit ass books and there's no way what you make can be worse

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[gemharvest]

Fuck it while I'm posting about these kinds of games. I had the epiphany the other day that Poppy Playtime is what FNaF Sister Location and beyond was trying to be but actually executed right. My life is in shambles.

[skvaderarts]

Hmmm... Yea, shit. I've got nothing. Hold on, wait! Oh... Yea. Nope. Nothing. Crap. I feel like I'm telling on myself, IRL and as a story teller.

Alright.

You ready for a hard 'tag your oc' challenge?

Tag an oc who doesn't have childhood trauma. At all. Who's family is still alive.

I'll wait.

[whoa-where-did-the-pancakes-go]

Has anybody in my tiny internet space read station eleven because im going crazy in here